


Flames in the Night

by Iamthesmileyface



Series: The Fact I'm Still Alive Is Why I Still Believe In Miracles [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ed and Winry have a happy healthy and consensual open relationship, Ed's a detective, Gang AU, Gen, Multi, Polyamory, Torture, al's in roy's gang, bc fuck love triangles and unhealthy polyamory, no royed, roy runs a gang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7415965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamthesmileyface/pseuds/Iamthesmileyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward Elric, the youngest detective of his rank in the Central City Police force.<br/>Alphonse Elric, a man who has hidden a secret for six years.<br/>Roy Mustang, the King of Central City's underworld.<br/>The Seven Sins, a gang out for revenge and infamy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And Then The Storm Was Overhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Seven were broken out. Considering who put them away, it’s likely you’ll be targeted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2.14.17: formatting fixed and minor changes made

Edward Elric stumbled to the door, rubbing grit from his eyes. He grabbed the newspaper from the mat and shut the door loudly. Clanking his way to the kitchen, he tossed the paper to the table as he searched for his half-full coffee mug.

Finally armed against the day with his acrid drink, he picked up the paper and went pale. **CENTRAL CITY PRISON BREAK!** the headlines blared. Grabbing at the paper with one white-knuckled hand and one creaking metal hand, he scanned the relevant article desperately. “Prison doors blown up… twenty-seven guards dead… police are refusing to release which criminals escaped…” He muttered as he read. “AL! I’m going to work early!” Alphonse poked his head into the kitchen, blinking blearily at the bright lights.

“Is something wrong, brother? You never go in this early.” Al said, suppressing a yawn. Ed tossed the newspaper to his little brother, who just barely managed to catch it. He stared down at the bolded statement on the paper for a few seconds before the message sank in. Al looked to Ed, who was frantically trying to locate his keys, wallet, phone, and something to eat for breakfast all at the same time. “You think it might be the Seven Sins.” he said. It wasn’t a question, but Ed nodded shortly anyway.

“Even if it’s not them, I might be assigned to this. And if it is them…” Ed trailed off, shaking his head.

Al nodded. “Good luck.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ed came to attention as he entered Assistant Chief Grumman’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, Detective Elric,” Grumman said, as if he hadn't been informed the moment Ed entered the station. “It’s good to see you. I wanted to talk to you about the prison break that occurred last night.”

Ed felt his heart drop into his stomach and continue free-falling. “It’s the Seven Sins. They’re the ones that broke out, aren’t they.”

Grumman smiled. “Very astute, Detective. Yes, the ringleaders of the Seven Sins and several of their men, as well as several other criminals escaped. Thanks to your work putting them away the first time, you’re heading up the search for them.” He slid a thick stack of files towards Ed.

Ed stood up straighter, taking the files. “Yes, sir. Is that everything?”

“No. They’re going to hold a grudge, Detective Elric. You might want to talk to your brother about getting out of town until this blows over.” Ed paled perceptibly and nodded.

 

* * *

 

Alphonse Elric settled further into the threadbare couch, flipping the page of the thriller his coworker at the library had given him. He was so engrossed in the story that he almost didn’t notice his phone vibrating in his pocket. He fumbled for his phone, pulling it out and checking the caller ID. Alphonse’s brow furrowed as he swiped to answer the call. _He_ didn’t call often, so this had to be important. “Hello?”

“Alphonse. I assume you heard about the prison break the other night?” The caller asked, sounding unusually ruffled, his tone clipped.

“Yeah, I didn’t think it was something I had to worry about. I assume I’m wrong?”

“The Seven were broken out. Considering who put them away, it’s likely you’ll be targeted.”

“Let me guess, you want me to get out of the city.”

“Switzerland.”

“It’s not happening. Sorry, Mustang, but I’m not leaving my brother, or anyone else."

The man on the other side of the call sighed, a rush of static. “I assumed you’d say that. I had to try. Meet at the Devil’s Nest in two hours.” A click ended the call, and Al put down his phone, a frown tugging at his face. _‘So. The Seven Sins are back.’_


	2. All The Way From Where We Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven months, six years, eleven years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2.14.17: Minor changes, formatting fixed

_:Seven months ago:_

 

“So, what’s the description of the guy we’re waiting for?” One of the rookie cops assigned to Ed asked.

Ed sighed irritatedly. “Caucasian male in his late twenties, six foot one, about 170 pounds, dark hair. Name of Alistair Peccare, also known as Greed. This is the fourth time one of you has asked in the last half hour, and there are three of you. Stop.” The rookie, whom Ed had mentally dubbed Twitch, apologized quickly and backed off. Ed turned and studied the small cafe they were waiting in for the seventh time. It was nearly empty, befitting the late hour. The bell above the door jingled, and Ed’s head snapped around. _‘That’s the guy, all right,’_ Ed thought, immediately followed by _‘What the hell is he_ **_wearing_** _?!’_ The man in question fluffed the fur collar on his vest, and glanced behind him. Two people followed him in, one a 5’5 blonde woman with a green tattoo across her face, the other a beefy grey-haired man who had to duck to make it through the door. Alistair scanned the cafe, stiffening slightly when he saw Ed and the rookies. Then he flashed a brilliant smile, and began to walk towards the small group.

“So, you’re the cops I’m supposed to be meeting with?”

“That depends, are you Alistair Peccare?” Ed replied. The man nodded, pulled out the chair opposite from Ed with a dramatic flourish and proceeded to lounge, there was no other word for it, in the chair. The two who accompanied him stood at his shoulders, obviously prepared to fight. “So, who are your grunts?” Ed asked, studying them carefully. They seemed like they would be tough to subdue if it came to that, and the woman flashed him a snakelike grin, as if sensing his thoughts.

“Martel Kiemurteleva.” She said.

The bigger man glared, though Ed was considering the possibility that glaring was the man’s default expression. “Roa Buhaj.”

“They’re two of my lieutenants. We all want out of this.” Alistair said easily.

“Yeah, you said that you had information on the Seven Deadly Sins. Said you were part of ‘em, actually. Why’re you turning them in?”

“They’re going crazy. I never wanted to do shit like that, I just wanted to sell some drugs, maybe a bit of weapon trafficking, but they’re fucking insane.”

“Insane how?” Ed pulled out a small black notebook and a pen, and Alistair took a deep breath.

“Damiano’s killed three people in the last week, for _fun_ ; I’m pretty certain Bassim is eating people; Sovrano’s started selling weapons to a terrorist cell; Selim’s kidnapped a kid and is holding him hostage; Lucia’s looking into human trafficking, and Ajmar’s just a coward who won’t stand up against them.”

Ed looked up from his scribbling. “Now, that’s a lot of accusations. First, who the hell are these people, and second, do you have proof?”

“They’re my siblings. Lucia, Sovrano, Ajmar, Bassam, Damiano, and Selim Peccare. And I’ve got recorded admissions of all of them, except Bassim’s. Roa?” The grey-haired man reached into a pocket, causing two of the rookies to jump and reach for a weapon. Ed shot them a warning glare, then switched his focus to whatever it was that Buhaj had pulled out of his pocket. _Whatever it was_ turned out to be a small usb drive with a faded and wrinkled yellow smiley face sticker on it. Alistair slid the usb drive over to Ed. “Everything’s on there, addresses, aliases, phone numbers, recordings. Now, I was promised amnesty for myself and my lieutenants.” Ed scooped the drive into an evidence bag supplied by Twitch.

“You’ll get your amnesty after we’ve verified this. You’ll also need to testify, when it comes to court.” Ed said as Alistair stood up, his chair scraping backwards. The other man nodded, his lieutenants flanking him out the door.

 

_:Six years ago:_

 

Alphonse felt sick to his stomach, and it wasn’t just from the reek of garbage, vomit, and urine that filled the alley. He read over the notes clutched in his hands, not really seeing any of the chicken-scratch words. “So, I kill this guy and I’m in?” He was proud of how strong his voice came out.

The man assigned to supervise him, a weedy man who reminded the teen of an eggplant, scoffed and nodded. “You fuckin’ deaf or some shit, kid? That’s what the boss said.” Al struggled to remember his name, but could only remember it started with a _B_ before the man scoffed and flicked him roughly in the forehead, looking expectant.

“I’m not deaf, I was just -- making sure.” Al swallowed. Eggplant Man --  _Barth? Barney? Eggplant Man._ \-- put a hand to his earpiece and nodded to Al.

“He’s coming.”

Al took a deep breath and handed the notes to Eggplant Man, picking up the stack of books he was supposed to be carrying. He exited the dingy alley, walking slow enough that his target -- Kain Fuery, his mind supplied -- could catch up. The two quickly reached the mouth of another dank alleyway, and Al shut his eyes and let his shaky legs give out.

As predicted, the target approached him quickly, his worry evident in his tone. “Are you alright? That was quite a fall!” Al nodded, not trusting his voice. The man was crouched in front of him, helping him sit up, completely unaware of the man approaching him. Al could only mouth **‘I’m sorry’** as a chloroformed rag slipped over the bespectacled man’s nose and mouth. He struggled feebly, before going limp and being dragged into the alley. A van’s headlights switched on, and the burly man who had chloroformed Fuery pulled out a lethal-looking needle. Al looked away, focusing on not being sick. He heard the other man grunt as he hoisted the unconscious man over his shoulder, and his footsteps faded slightly as he walked to the van.

Eggplant Man walked up, grinning at Al, who was still sitting on the ground. “Good job, kid. But you’re not there yet.”

 

* * *

 

 _'This is terribly cliche_ ,' Alphonse thought as he stared around at the empty warehouse. The lone lightbulb casting eerie shadows, the chill of the concrete walls. Al stared at the still-unconscious man sagging limply against his bonds. The gun in his hands felt odd, he thought, strangely removed from the process. Eggplant Man was the only one supervising him now, the other goons having returned to wherever it was they and the van had come from.

Eggplant Man’s grating voice startled the teen, and he whirled around, inexpertly fumbling with the gun. “Woah kid, it’s just me!” He chuckled, raising his hands sarcastically. “So, you waiting for him to wake up to shoot him?” He didn’t wait for Al to respond before continuing, a sick glee coloring his words. “I agree, it’s more fun when they know it’s coming. Lucky for you, he should be coming around soon.” True to the man’s words, the bound man groaned weakly and lifted his head. His eyes were unfocused for a moment, before shooting wide in panic.

“Who --” Fuery coughed clearing his throat. “Who are you, and where am I?”

Eggplant Man walked up to Fuery, smirking cruelly. “You don’t need to know that. After all, you’ll be dead in a few minutes.” He looked over his shoulder at Al. “You ready, kid?”

Al felt himself nod. He moved up, stopping a step behind Eggplant Man. He leveled the gun at Fuery, noticing distantly that his hands were shaking. He looked at the man he was supposed to shoot, looking small and defenseless, tied to a chair and squinting to see his surroundings. There wasn’t much to see, Al thought, looking around at their spartan surroundings. Al looked at Fuery, and made a snap decision. He took a quick step forward and rotated, the butt of the gun smashing into Eggplant Man’s head with a sick _crunch_. Eggplant Man went down like a sack of bricks, and Al turned away before the body hit the floor, heading for the chair. He kneeled down, tugging at the knots with numb, trembling fingers.

He jerked back as Fuery spoke suddenly. “There’s a knife on my ankle, use that.” His voice was unexpectedly kind, and Al found himself obeying. Fuery brushed the ropes off, swaying dangerously as he stood up, and Al moved without thinking, stooping under the man’s arm.

“W-we need to get out of here, is, do you know somewhere to go?” Al said, rushed and shaky.

“I do. Are you okay with supporting me? Only, I don’t think I can walk on my own yet.” Fuery said with a rueful chuckle. “Do you happen to know what it was they gave me, by any chance?” Al shook his head and wrapped his arm more firmly around the wobbling man.

 

* * *

 

Al leaned back in the armchair he was sitting in, trying to make sense of the past hour. He had nearly killed someone. _He_ had nearly _killed_ someone. It didn’t help his churning thoughts or stomach that the man he nearly _killed_ was the owner of the careworn armchair he was sitting in, and the apartment surrounding him. Fuery walked into the living room, slipping his cellphone into the pocket of his dark slacks as he did so. “My friends are going to be coming here, and you’re going to meet with them.” His voice was firm, but not unkind.

Al stared incredulously at the man in front of him. “You’re -- you’re not mad?” He croaked.

Fuery sat on the couch across from the armchair with an easy grace. “No, I’m not.”

“But -- I nearly killed you!”

“And yet, you didn’t.”

“Still! I was -- I was supposed to! Oh god, what am I going to do now…”

Fuery adjusted his slipping glasses and looked at the teenager sitting in his armchair curiously. “What’s your name?”

“Al.” He said, cutting himself off before he said more.

“How old are you, Al?”

“I’m, I’m sixteen.”

Fuery’s eyes widened. “What were you doing with the Unseen if you’re only sixteen?” He asked, sounding horrified.

“I need the money, I, my family’s in debt.” Al said in a rush, hand coming up to brush through his hair.

“I see. Well, my friends should be able to help with that.” Fuery cocked his head just before the doorbell rang. “That’s likely them now.”

Al sat, petrified at the thought of these _friends_. Fuery may not have been violent, but his friends, if they found out, might be. And Fuery would definitely tell them. And what did he mean, they could help? He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts as five strangers and Fuery entered the room. Al stared at them, trying to figure out what would happen next. The lone woman in the group walked over to stand in front of Al, and he shrunk back from the impassive, terrifying stare.

“What’s your name?” She said, inflectionless yet somehow not unkind.

“Al -- Alphonse Elric, ma’am,” he stuttered out, internally cursing wildly as he registered what he had said. He hadn’t meant to tell her his full name!

The other men situated themselves nearby, seemingly content to leave the interrogation to the intimidating woman. Somehow, this was not at all reassuring to Alphonse. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen, ma’am. I’m sorry!”

 “You’re sorry for being sixteen?”

“N-no, I’m sorry I tried to kill your friend!” He said in a fearful whisper, hunching his shoulders.

“If you truly wanted to kill him, he would be dead by now.”

“No, I didn’t want to kill him!”

She nodded. “Why were you working with the Unseen, Alphonse?”

Al warily relaxed a tad, seeing they weren’t immediately going to hurt him at the very least. “They were the only gang that I could get contact with, that would pay me.”

One of the men, the dark haired one that looked vaguely Xingese, scoffed. “Of course they were. They’re scum.”

“Why do you need the money?” The woman asked, ignoring the man’s input.

“My family, we have a lot of medical bills to pay off. My brother is driving himself mad trying to pay it off, but he keeps insisting that I don’t need to help him, that he can do it on his own. He’s going to work himself into the grave if he keeps on like this!”

The Xingese-looking man leaned forward from where he was seated on the couch. “So, you joined a gang to get money for your family. I don’t suppose this encounter will be enough to scare you away?”

Al shook his head hesitantly. “I really, really need the money.”

“Sir, with the stunt he pulled, the Unseen will likely target him as well as Fuery.” The woman put in.

The man nodded. “Well, Alphonse, this is rather unusual. However, you have saved the life of one of my lieutenants, and I cannot, in good conscience, leave a teenager to be targeted by that disgrace of a gang. So, would you like a job?”

Al leaned back, fighting the urge to run from this group of -- likely very dangerous -- people. “Who -- who are you?” He asked quietly.

The dark haired man smiled. “I’m known as the King.” Al's breath caught, his eyes going wide as he froze in shock and fear. “I take it you’ve heard of me?” The King asked, chuckling.

Al swallowed nervously. “Just whispers. Everyone has.”

“So, are you going to accept?”

“I'm not going to kill people.” Al blurted, clapping a hand to his mouth the second the words were out. _‘Oh god I’m going to die, I just mouthed off to the King!’_

The King, on the other hand, merely smiled at the boy’s reaction. “Alright. There’s plenty of other things we can have you do, that pay better and are safer.”

Al sucked in a trembling breath. “Then...I’ll take it!” He said, whipping his hand down.

The King’s smile turned into a smirk. “Welcome aboard, Alphonse Elric.”

 

_:Eleven years ago:_

 

The nurse at the front desk smiled at Ed as he walked in, not even wrinkling his nose at the antiseptic smell that permeates all hospitals. “Mr. Elric, Mrs. Curtis! You’re here to see Alphonse again, right?”

Ed snorted, scowling and tightening his hold on the book in his arms. “Why else would we be here?”

The nurse ignored Ed’s rudeness with practiced ease. “You know, the doctor says he _is_ improving.”

“And they’ve been saying that for, oh, I don’t know, three months now.” Ed muttered bitterly before yelping as Izumi pinched his arm. Ed grumbled all the way to the now far too familiar hospital room.

Ed settled himself in the in the uncomfortable chair beside the bed, looking everywhere but his little brother’s supine form. “Hey, Al. Sorry we haven’t come in for a couple days, the shop was being inspected.” As usual, there was no response, and Ed tried his best not to be disheartened by that. He opened the dog-eared book in his hands, flipping through the pages. “So, where were we in _The Return of the King_? Oh, right.” Clearing his throat, he began to read.

Izumi Curtis leaned against the door of the hospital room, looking in on the two boys she’d been fostering for six years. Before the accident, Alphonse had been such an energetic child, though not as lively as his brother. Even so, it hurt her to see him so still, empty eyes open and staring at the ceiling. Ed’s state almost pained her more. Losing an arm and a leg hadn’t dulled his spirit very much, but losing his brother had. Over time, as Al didn’t improve, she watched him become withdrawn, hiding behind angry masks and sharp words. But here, by his brother’s side, the masks fell away. He looked as small as he really was, glancing at the bed every now and again, hoping against hope for a reaction. But none ever came.

“ _Theoden King of the Mark had reached the road from the Gate to the River, and he turned towards the City that was now less than a mile distant. He slackened_ \-- woah!” Ed’s reading was cut off as he jerked back from the sudden, violent movement from the bed. Alphonse thrashed wildly and attempting to rip out the IVs in his arm, yelling loudly but wordlessly. “AL!” Ed yelled, reaching for his brother. Izumi straightened up, looking at the scene briefly before running to the nurse’s station as fast as she could. Ed’s look of shocked awe melted away into one of fear as his brother continued to thrash and flail against the sheets. Little droplets of red fell against the stark whiteness as the IVs were pulled, the heart monitor beeping frantically. Two nurses rushed into the room, taking places by Al’s bedside and restraining him efficiently.

“He needs to be sedated!” one of the nurses called to a third standing in the doorway beside Izumi. The third nurse nodded, rushing off. Izumi grabbed Ed’s arm, dragging him out of the room as the nurse returned with a clunky, rattling cart. The nurse closed the door behind her, leaving Ed and Izumi outside. Ed struggled against the hold futilely, yelling for his brother.

“Edward Elric, listen to me!” Izumi said in a low, serious voice, kneeling and jerking Ed to face her in one smooth movement. “You’d get in the nurse’s way if you were in there. Stop and think!”

“But Al! He woke up! I need to--”

“No. The nurses know what they’re doing. You don’t! They say that Alphonse needs to be sedated, then he needs to be sedated. If he is waking up, you’re going to be sitting with him the next time he’s conscious.” She shifted her grip from his arms to his shoulders, her knuckles whitening with the force of her grip. Contrasting this, her voice, when she spoke again, was soft in the way it rarely was. “You don’t need to see this, Ed. He’s going to be okay.” Ed sagged against her, wrapping his arms around her and tucking his face into her neck. She held him close as they heard the noises in the room die down, and finally go silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title, for this one and the last one, are from Metric's song Speed the Collapse.  
> Lucia - Lust  
> Damiano - Envy  
> Sovrano - Brotherhood Wrath  
> Selim - Brotherhood Pride, obviously  
> Bassim - Gluttony  
> Ajmar - Brotherhood Sloth


	3. How Could We Not Talk About Family When Family's All That We Got?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2.14.17: minor changes, formatting fixed

Edward unlocked the door, stepping inside in a subdued manner. There were no shouts for Al to come down immediately, no shoes or coat left in a heap in the entryway. The events of the day weighed heavily on his mind, as if playing on loop. There had been no leads discovered from the rubble of the prison doors, and the security camera’s footage had been erased. He stepped into the kitchen, intent on fixing himself a sandwich, only to find his brother sitting at the table, frowning softly down at his fingers, tracing the wood grain with his fingertips.

“Al? Is everything alright?” Ed asked, instantly put even more on edge.

“No. Brother, there’s something I need to tell you.” Al lifted his face to look at his brother, who had taken a few steps forward and was reaching out a hand.

Ed put his hand on Al’s shoulder, the knot of worry in his stomach seeming to be producing acid. He hadn't seen that lost, desperate expression on Al's face in years. “You can tell me anything, Al. You know that.”

Al didn’t seem to have heard him. “I should have told you this years ago, but I was terrified.”

“Al, I’m starting to really freak out here. Just tell me!” He said, trying to force some levity into his tone.

“I’m in a gang.” Al blurted, almost too fast for Ed to understand.

Ed took a half step back, eyes widening. “Al, please tell me I misheard you.” Ed said, shocked nearly speechless. Al shook his head ruefully.

“I almost wish I could say that. Brother, please --” He began, but was cut off by Ed.

“No! Al, what the hell? I never -- I can’t believe this! Why the fuck would you join a gang, what could you possibly get out of this?!” Ed’s voice started off loud, and only got louder. “Gangs are dangerous, you know that! And, years ago? What the everliving fuck, Al?! When did you join this gang? What gang is it? Wh--”

Al stood up, grabbing his brother’s waving hands. “Ed! I can -- I’m going to explain, but I can’t do it when you’re screaming at me!” Ed’s eyes flashed, and Al was afraid, for a split second, that he’d gone too far, that his brother was going to attack him. But then Ed tugged his hands out of his hold, fiery anger exchanged for a much more icy look.

“Fine. Explain, then.” Ed said flatly, moving back and leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest.

Al took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “When I was sixteen, I almost killed a man. I was supposed to, I was trying to work with the Unseen.”

“The Unseen?! You were working with the Unseen? Al, why would you even --”

Al held up his hand, cutting off the rant before Ed could properly get started. “Let me finish the story. Please.” He added, softly. Ed scowled, nodding tersely. “I couldn’t do it. I ended up helping the man I was supposed to kill escape.” Ed tensed even further, opening his mouth before snapping it shut. “He, he called his friends, and they offered me a job. The man I was supposed to kill was…” Al trailed off, the knot in his gut threatening to crawl out of his throat. “He would be known to you as the Pawn.” He met Ed’s eyes, defiance mixing with the fear and guilt. “I work for the Flames.”

Ed breathed out heavily, running his hand through his hair roughly and yanking it partially out of his customary braid. “I need to sit down,” he muttered, scraping out one of the chairs and dropping down. “Al, what the fuck?” His voice held all of the exhaustion he felt. Al winced and tentatively followed his brother to the table, shifting his weight awkwardly as he stood. “Why would you even…?” Ed trailed off, staring at his brother.

“We needed the money.” Al’s voice was firm, but his face displayed all of the emotions running rampant through him as he met his brother’s eyes.

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you did this, Al! I know we needed the money, but…” Ed sighed and dropped his gaze, the rage slowly evaporating into a gut-churning hollowness. “Why did you tell me now?”

Al hesitated. This wasn’t quite the reaction he expected, for all that it started out like it. He had expected more screaming, maybe even physical violence. But this emptiness that colored his brother’s words and the hollow expression Ed wore was unnerving. “Because the Seven Sins escaped, and the King has offered his help with this.”

“How do you know that he didn’t set them free himself?” Al opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off. “More importantly, how do _I_  know that? How do I know that you’re telling the truth, about any of this?” A bit of the rage returned, and he glared at Al viciously.

Al flinched, the hopelessness and rage in Ed’s voice cutting him deeper than any physical wound could. But his brother had a point. “You...you can’t. And I’m so sorry, if you don’t believe me about anything else, believe me about this, brother. I am _so sorry._ ” His voice broke, and he looked away, brushing away the tears that had welled up. He cleared his throat, studying the floor tile rather than looking at Ed, too afraid of what he might see. “I’d -- I’d completely understand if you didn’t trust me, even if you -- if you hated me now. But please, brother, meet with the King at least once. It would probably be good for the investigation.” He cursed the way his voice cracked, when he’d been doing so good at making himself sound emotionless. He glanced at his older brother out of the corner of his eye, and was terrified when he realized that he couldn’t read Ed’s face like he usually could.

Ed nodded once, then stood, leaving the chair pushed out. “I’m going to bed.” His voice was blank, revealing no more emotions than his face was. He walked out, his footsteps echoing through the rooms and fading into silence. Al dropped his gaze again, bringing a hand up to his mouth to stifle the wrenching sobs he gave himself over to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, sorry  
> chapter title from See You Again by Wiz Khalifa


	4. Kings From The Underground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2.14.17: minor changes, formatting fixed

Neither brother slept well that night. The night crept by, bringing no rest or comfort, and finally the sun crept above the hills, illuminating Alphonse’s unmarred bedspread and Edward’s disarrayed blanket. The two in question sat in oppressive silence, on opposite ends of their small living room. Al was trying to immerse himself in a book, while Ed feigned sleep on the settee. Ed had come down from his room at about two that morning with a clatter, startling Al. Neither had said a word to each other since the fight.

Al cleared his throat softly, glancing at his watch. “It’s nearly seven.”

Ed nodded, abandoning his pretense. He stood, walking upstairs without a word.

Al stood up and put away his book, taking out and reorganizing a few others, just to have something to do. Ed came back down after twenty minutes, dressed and ready for work.

“So, when does this King guy want to meet?” Ed said abruptly, turning to the kitchen, away from Al.

“Six o’clock this evening, at the Devil’s Nest.”

Ed nodded once. “I’ll be there.” Biting into the apple he had picked up, he walked to the entryway and shrugged on his bright red overcoat and left the house. Al took a deep breath, the door’s click echoing through the house.

 

* * *

 

Damiano Peccare groaned melodramatically and stretched out on the paisley couch he had draped himself over. “Not that I’m not grateful for the rescue, Ummi, but _must_ we stay here? It’s far too hot, and the decorations are _ghastly._ ” His hair lay in disarray all over the arm of the couch, shining a curious green-black in the sun and clashing horribly with the pink and orange print.

“Do you want to go back to the prison, Damiano?” Dante Peccare said disapprovingly, glancing up from her book at her son.

“No, we definitely do not. Dami’s just being ungrateful and overdramatic, Umi.” Lucia put in hastily, glaring daggers at her brother, who merely sighed and slung an arm over his eyes. Lucia turned to her mother, ignoring her brother’s dramatics and tapping her long black nails on her teacup. “When are Father and Selim coming back?”

“Mmm, they should be home in a half hour. I had forgotten how much you children eat.” Dante groused good-naturedly. Or perhaps not good-naturedly, Lucia could never tell when it came to her mother.

“Don’t you mean, how much Bassim eats?” Damiano said, still covering his eyes.

“Oh don’t start, young man, you eat nearly as much as he does!” Dante scolded.

The creak of hinges cut Damiano off before he could reply. Ajmar poked his head in from the hallway, moving surprisingly quietly for such a large man. “Could you not argue right now, please? I’m trying to sleep.” He asked plaintively, brushing his stringy dark hair out of his eyes. Dante waved her hand at him dismissively.

“Yes, yes. Go to sleep, Ajmar. Your brother was finished speaking anyway.” She said, shooting a dark look at Damiano.

“Yeah, go take your, what is it today, sixteenth nap? It’s not like there’s anything useful for any of us to do now.” Damiano muttered as Ajmar retreated, closing the door behind him. Damiano seemed to be content to stay in his position for the foreseeable future.

“And what would you rather do, Damiano?” Sovrano asked, walking up behind the couch silently. Damiano startled almost comically and fell off the couch.

"Wh -- Stop _doing_ that!” Damiano yelled, jumping up and getting in Sovrano’s face. Sovrano merely sighed and looked down at Damiano disapprovingly, his moustache exacerbating the frown. Damiano glared at him viciously, then dropped down to the couch again, sulking. “We should be getting back what we had, as well as getting revenge on that pipsqueak detective! Not to mention, Alistair betrayed us! He should suffer for that.”

“And he will. Don't be an idiot, do you really think that we could just walk back into Central? We would be back in prison before we could blink. We will regroup, and plan, and then everyone that contributed to our imprisonment will suffer and die.” Sovrano said calmly.

Damiano sighed irritably. “Fine. But what the hell kind of regrouping can we do in _Italy_?”

“You’ll be surprised, little brother. You’ll be surprised.”

 

* * *

 

“Where do you think he is?” Kain Fuery asked, setting his water glass down on the table. “He’s not usually late.”

“He _is_ bringing his brother this time, that may be contributing to his delayed arrival time.” Vato Falman pointed out, hanging his coat on a hook. He pulled a small book out of the pocket, despite the dimness of the warm light that filled the back room the group occupied.

Jean Havoc shook his head ruefully. “The brother that’s a detective. I still think this is a bad idea.”

“Yeah, we all got that the first time you said it.” Heymans Breda scoffed, tossing a complementary peanut into his mouth.

“I’m just saying, this could go sour far too easily. For all we know, Al coulda been turned in to the police last night, and that’s why he’s late!”

“Al was confident that would not happen, and we have no other option but to trust him.” Roy Mustang said, rhythmically tapping on the table. Riza Hawkeye said nothing, choosing instead to scan the room for the twenty-first time. Havoc grumbled, but didn’t argue, and the group was again reduced to waiting in semi-silence. The clock ticked on. Six ten. Six fifteen. Then, just before the clock hit six twenty, the door swung open with a bang, revealing the owner of the bar in all his fur-collared, round-sunglassed, spiky-haired glory. He was followed closely by a short blond man in a red coat and a taller, far more familiar blond.

“Greed, Alphonse, a pleasure as always.” Roy said, leaning forward slightly. “You must be Edward.” Riza straightened even further as Al closed and locked the door behind him; tensing imperceptibly, hand hovering over her sidearm.

“And you’re the King, then?” Ed said, glaring at the whole room indiscriminately.

“Yes. Thank you for meeting with me; I hope it will prove advantageous for us both.” Roy said smoothly, disregarding the blatant hostility expertly.

“Then get to it. Why did you invite me?” Ed focused on Roy, glowering.

“Because you were assigned to the Seven Sins case.” Greed leaned against the table as Roy spoke, looking back and forth between Ed and Roy like he was watching the world’s most dramatic tennis match.

“And why do you care about their escape?” Ed asked, suspicion joining the suppressed anger in his voice.

“There are two reasons; one is that your brother is likely to be targeted by the Seven Sins when they return to Central. The other is that, simply, I loathe them and everything that they have done to my city.” Roy said, waving a hand dismissively.

“Hold the fuck up. _Your_ city? Man, you are the most egoistical asshole I’ve ever met!” Ed burst out. Riza’s hand dropped to her firearm, shifting so that the motion was clearly visible from where Ed was standing. Ed switched his focus to her, and tried to hold her gaze. He dropped his gaze back to Roy after a moment, and Riza counted that as a victory. “Who’s the bodyguard?”

“The bodyguard, as you call her, is my Queen.” Roy said, fractionally more icy.

Ed nodded as Al shifted, finally sitting down next to Havoc, though not without at least seven sidelong glances at his brother.

“Alright. What do you want me to do?”

“Well, to not turn us in, for starters.” Havoc interjected lightly. His shoulders were squared, the tension there contrasting his nonchalance.

Ed glanced at Havoc before turning back to Roy and demanding. “Who the hell are all of these people, anyway?”

Roy shared a look with each of his men before answering. “These are my lieutenants. The Pawn,” Fuery waved, smiling hesitantly; “The Bishop,” Falman inclined his head; “The Rook,” Breda smirked, popping another peanut in his mouth; “and The Knight.” Havoc nodded impatiently.

“Yeah, okay. I won’t turn you in without a good reason.” Ed said brusquely, glancing at his brother out of the corner of his eye.

Havoc relaxed slightly, grinning. “Alright then.”

“So, what is it you want from me?” Ed asked again, impatient.

“We want to help you catch the Seven Sins when they return to Central.” Roy said, leaning back in his chair.

“What makes you think they’re not in the city, or anywhere nearby?”

“Because here they have no resources, minimal allies, and the police actively searching for them. If they were still here, they would have been caught by now.” Roy's tone was just on the edge of condescending, and Ed bristled.

“If it was who I think it was that broke them out, they’re out of the country.” Greed added, sneering.

“Who do you think it is?” Ed said, irritated. “Stop with the cryptic remarks, Peccare.”

Greed raised a hand, then jabbed his thumb at himself. “It’s Greed. I don’t want anything to do with them.”

“Fine then, _Greed_ , who do you think broke them out?”

Greed’s lip curled. “Dear old Mom and Pops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Krewella's Dancing With The Devil
> 
> This bit kicked my ass, I hope it was worth it lol


	5. Before You Start A War, You Better Know What You're Fighting For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2.14.17: very minor changes, format changes

“So, how did the meeting go?”

Roy sighed, a rush of static in the phone. “It went as well as could be expected, all things considered.”

“Not good at all?” Hughes spun around in his chair, not caring that his secretary could see through the glass and was probably judging him. He had a carefully constructed facade of a bumbling, one-dimensional family man, and he hadn’t cultivated that by being professional at all times.

“Well, Elric didn’t come in with a swarm of police behind him. He’s agreed to work with us, for the time being.”

“Then why do you sound so nettled, Roy?”

“I don’t sound _nettled_. Is that even a word that people use in casual conversation?” Roy huffed, propping his feet up on the end table in his cramped apartment.

“Yes, as a matter of fact it is, and you do. And don’t think I didn’t notice you dodging the question!”

“Fine. The Elric kid put me on edge, are you happy now?”

“Because he knows what you look like now?”

“Yes. Because he can identify not only me, but all of my lieutenants. Because he knows that we’re at least friendly with Greed. Because he could ruin everything I’ve worked for, everything my mother worked for. Is that reason enough for you, Maes?” He said snappishly.

“Roy, those are all valid concerns, but think about it. If he turned in the gang, he’d be turning in his brother. Even if he doesn’t care enough about his brother to keep him from doing that, he would be doing severe damage to his reputation, having his brother be part of one of the biggest crime syndicate in the country for what, six years now?” Hughes’ voice was soothing, and Roy relaxed almost against his will.

“Yeah. Six years.”

“It’s still a risk, and I don’t know Elric, but he’d be sacrificing a lot if he turned you in. So I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Then again, when do you not worry?”

“I didn’t get where I am by being careless.”

“No, you got there by being a total mama’s boy.” Maes’ voice took on a teasing lilt.

“Are you saying that you wouldn’t respect my mother to her face?”

“No, your mother is _terrifying_. But there’s a difference between respecting her and being a mama’s boy.” Roy sighed, rolling his eyes. Before he could rebut, Maes changed the subject. “Speaking of mothers, Gracia told me to pass on a message.”

“What is it?”

“She says that if you and Riza don’t come to dinner sometime soon, she’ll kidnap you and bring you to dinner herself.”

Roy chuckled, imagining his friend’s petite, gentle wife trying to kidnap him and Riza. “Tell her that we’ll come to dinner sometime soon, within the next two weeks. I need to ask Riza when she’s free, and check my own schedule.”

“Will do.” Maes’ voice suddenly changed, becoming overly bubbly, signaling that someone had entered his office. “Anyway, did I tell you that Elysia got a hundred percent on her math test yesterday? She’s growing up so smart, just like her mother. Ah, she’s growing up so fast, I swear. It’s like every time I turn around she’s only gotten bigger! That’s why you should come over, make sure she doesn’t forget what her Uncle Roy looks like!”

“Goodbye, Maes.” Roy said, his long-suffering tone mostly put on. Maes continued to babble on in his too-cheerful tone, and Roy hung up.

 

* * *

 

Winry frowned at the pixely, shadowy rendition of her boyfriend. “You look terrible. And more than can be explained by your shitty excuse for a computer’s camera.”

Ed laughed softly. “Never pull any punches, do you, Win.”

“You’d freak out if I did, now spill.”

“It’s… it’s big, Win.”

“That’s what she said!” An indistinct voice called from the background of Winry’s end of the call. A minute later, a grinning young woman entered the frame, leaning over Winry’s shoulder. Ed groaned.

“Hey Paninya.”

“Hi Ed! Wow, you look like shit.” Paninya observed.

“Yeah, it’s been pretty busy up here.” Ed said, sitting up straighter.

“Did you get a new case?” Winry asked, shifting the laptop so that Paninya could see the screen better as she settled on the bed.

Ed laughed, a tinge of cynicism curling through it. “You could say that, yeah. I don’t really want to talk about right now.”

Winry frowned, but let it go. “Okay, should we discuss your absolute lack of a love life instead?”

“I have you!” Ed protested, letting himself slip into the familiar argument.

“I have Paninya too, and not having anyone to be Ed-romantic with is making you cranky.” Winry said as she slipped the arm not supporting the laptop around Paninya’s waist.

“I’m too busy to be dating, Win, you know that. Besides, if I got involved with someone, I’d have to make sure they’d be safe from the type of people I deal with.”

Winry rolled her eyes. “You’re a detective, not a B-list action movie star.”

“I don’t think there’s any poly B-list action movie plots.” Paninya mused. “That sounds like an untapped niche market.”

“You going into film now?” Ed asked, half-sarcastically.

“Maybe.” She huffed, leaning into Winry. Winry ran her fingers through Paninya’s close-cropped hair absent-mindedly, and Ed mimed gagging. Paninya flipped him the bird, not moving.

“You look like you’re trying to assimilate her.” Ed said grumpily, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, you need to get laid.” Paninya fired back at him.

Ed rolled his eyes. “Whatever. It’s getting crazy up here in Central.”

“The prison break, right?” Winry asked sympathetically.

“Yeah. Plus there’s personal stuff on top of that.”

“What kind of personal stuff?” Winry frowned.

“Al and I are fighting.” Ed said wearily after a long pause.

Winry and Paninya blinked in unison. “But you guys never fight!” Paninya finally stuttered out.

“Well, we are now.” It came out snappish, and he winced. “Sorry. I’m just --”

“You’re always pissy when you and Al fight. I know.” Winry cut him off. Ed nodded, the camera on his ancient laptop throwing dramatic shadows on the blur his head became. “What are you two fighting about now?”

“...You can’t tell anyone about this.”

“Why not?” Paninya asked, sitting up straight.

“You just can’t, okay? It could be disastrous.”

“We won’t tell anyone, Ed. Promise.” Winry said, laying a hand on Paninya’s arm.

Ed took a deep breath. “Al told me, last night, that he’s -- he’s in a gang.”

“What?” Winry nearly shrieked. Ed flinched back from the demonic screech his computer had turned the word into.

“You heard me. For _six years._ ” Ed ran a hand over his face.

“Six _years?!_ ” Paninya whispered.

“Six damn years, and I didn’t suspect _anything._ ”

“Why -- did he give a reason?” Winry asked, shock written all over her features.

“Yeah. To pay off those damn medical bills.”

Paninya and Winry winced, impressively in sync.

Both ends of the Skype call sat in silence for a minute, Winry and Paninya processing what they heard and Ed just sitting quietly.

“How are you holding up?” Winry asked Ed softly, breaking the silence.

“I’m great.” Ed said sarcastically. “My brother’s just been hiding the fact that he’s part of the biggest gang in Central, for six years; and that could only cost me my job!” His voice steadily rose as he went on, until he was nearly shouting.

“Ed, calm down.” Winry commanded.

Ed took a heavy breath. “I just, don’t know what to do, Win.”

“That’s okay. But, think about it this way. You have two options here. You can accept that Al is in gang, or you can’t. But if you don’t accept it, you’re going to lose your brother.”

“I don’t...Win, I don’t know if I can accept it, even if that means losing Al.” Ed said, his voice breaking.

Winry leaned back for a moment, stunned. Then she frowned viciously and leaned forward, her voice full of anger and determination. “No. You are _not_ going to give up on Al, your _brother._ That’s not the Edward Elric I fell in love with. You didn’t give up on him when he was comatose, you supported him throughout his physical therapy, despite the fact that you were down two limbs. You had automail surgery at _eleven,_ and you said it was for his sake. I won’t let you sit here and say that you’re giving up on him now, just because he fucked up.”

Ed’s eyes widened, his expression taking on a tinge of fear at the sight of his irate girlfriend. “Win, I --”

“No.”

“But --”

_“No.”_

Ed gave up, seeing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with this. “So, what, I should just _forgive_ him for getting himself in a dangerous situation, for putting my career in jeopardy, for _lying to me for six years_?”

“No, what I’m saying is that you should talk to him! It might not be as bad as you think, but you won’t know that until you _talk to him_!”

“Fine. I’ll talk to him.” Ed said, sounding as though the words were ripped from him.

“So, how’s your automail?” Winry said, chipper once more.

Ed sighed as the familiar argument sparked up, a small, reluctant smile threatening to break through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, healthy poly relationships make my little poly heart beat with joy so fight me, they're poly now
> 
> chapter title from The Cab's Angel With A Shotgun


	6. Everything I Have I Can Lose it in This Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2.14.17: very minor changes

Ed strode through the door to the Devil’s Nest, blinking to adjust to the dim light and checking his wristwatch. _5:27_. He groaned internally, Al and his gangster buddies wouldn’t be here, or at least wouldn’t meet with him until six. “Oh, fuck it.” He murmured, making his way over to the bar, which was manned by a lithe Xingese guy with a long ponytail.

Sitting on the padded burgundy stool, he waited for the bartender to notice him, drumming his metal fingers on the bar. The bartender looked good in the weirdly long apron, Ed noticed. He was tall, and somehow he pulled off a bright yellow button-down with aplomb. Ed shook his head, slightly horrified at his train of thought. He was here to meet with the leader of a notorious gang, one that practically controlled Central, not to check out -- admittedly attractive -- bartenders!

Either way, the man didn’t seem to have noticed Ed yet. Ed coughed pointedly, and the man spun around, the end of his long ponytail landing on his shoulder. _Dammit,_ the man’s face was not helping Ed not to be attracted to him. The man’s eyebrows raised slightly and his jaw slackened in shock, not really affecting the strange half-lidded thing his eyes were doing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come up. What can I get you?” The bartender asked, his voice low and slightly husky.

“Y’got anything non alcoholic here?” Ed asked, clearing his throat.

“We’ve got plenty,” The bartender said, leaning against his side of the bar and brushing the end of his ponytail back. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Nah. Just nothing with milk.” Ed waved a hand dismissively. The bartender grinned.

“Alright.” He turned around, pulling a few bottles out of a small refrigerator and a few down from a shelf. Ed forced himself to look away, surveying the bar and the other patrons. There wasn’t any sign of the people who were present at the last meeting.

A _clink_ brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned back to see the grinning bartender and a bright yellow drink on the counter between them.

“What is this?” Ed asked, reaching for the glass with his natural hand and failing to notice the way the bartender’s eyes flicked to his fingers.

“It’s called a Golden Glow. It seemed fitting.” The bartender’s grin widened.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ed took a sip. It wasn’t too bad, lots of citrus.

The bartender leaned down, resting his -- well-toned, _not that Ed was looking_ \-- forearms on the counter. “You are rather blinding in your looks, that is all I meant.” Ed felt himself flush, and cursed his fair skin.

“Whatever.” He said gruffly, taking another sip. The bartender pressed on, undaunted.

“Truly. In fact, may I take a picture of you? My sister and I were arguing about the existence of angels, and I just found irrefutable proof.”

Ed choked. Somehow, he had made the ridiculously lame pick-up line sound _good,_ damn him. Coughing and spluttering, he glared at the bartender, who did his best to look contrite. It wasn’t very convincing. “You fucking suck at flirting, you know that right?” He managed to get out, coughs slowly subsiding and his throat burning from the acidic drink.

The bartender nodded cheerfully. “So, what’s your name?”

“Ed. You?”

“Ling Yao; it is _truly_ my pleasure to meet you.” Ling smirked as Ed’s flush returned full-force.

Ed shifted awkwardly, willing the blood away from his cheeks. “Nice to meet you too.” He took a sip of his drink.

“What brings you to the Devil’s Nest?” Ling asked, straightening and leaning against the counter again, folding his arms.

“Business meeting.” Ed replied brusquely, reminding himself of his purpose.

“Ah. You know, the people you’re waiting for won’t be here for another,” Ling checked a slim watch on his wrist. “Sixteen minutes.”

“Yeah. How do you know who I’m waiting for?” Ed asked, a tinge of suspicion twisting through his voice.

“Greed and The King play cards pretty regularly. Plus, you’re Edward Elric, the detective who’s supposed to be tracking the Seven Sins, and only Greed and the Flames hold a grudge against them.”

“How’d you --”

“A lot of different people come to the Devil’s Nest, and when people drink, they tend to talk.”

Ed nodded, reconsidering the bartender. He seemed more clever than Ed had previously thought. He sipped at his drink, desperately casting around for a change of topic “So, how’d you end up here?” He asked, trying and failing not to sound stiff.

Ling cocked his head. “In Amestris, or at the Devil’s Nest?”

“Whichever.” Ed shrugged, relieved that the other didn’t seem offended.

“Greed offered me a job here, and I’m not unused to the kind of stuff he did. It kept my friends and me off the streets, and it’s mostly legitimate now!” He replied, his smile taking on a soft edge. He hadn’t actually stopped smiling since the conversation started.

“That’s good.” He paused. “Who’re your friends?”

“My little sister and my best friend, they came with me from Xing. You have a little brother, don’t you?”

“Al. Does he come in here often?”

“Not really. Just when more than one of the Flames come in. Though, my little sister wishes he would come in more often.” Ling smirked softly.

“She has a crush on him or something?” Ed leaned forward, trying to focus on Ling’s words rather than the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders.

“One of the biggest crushes I’ve ever seen. And he seems to be crushing back.”

“Huh. He’s never mentioned anyone to me.” Ed tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Judging by the sympathy on Ling’s face, it didn’t work too well.

“He was probably scared.” From the tone, Ed could tell he wasn’t just talking about Al’s possible romantic prospects.

Ed looked away, draining his glass. “So, what do you do besides bartending?” It wasn’t the most subtle segues, but Ling seemed to accept it as easily as Ed was beginning to suspect he accepted most things.

“I play chess and checkers, and I practice martial arts.”

“What style of martial art?” Ed asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Baguazhang.”

“Cool. I practice a mix of jujitsu and aikido.”

“Interesting. Is there a good dojo around here?” Ling asked, taking Ed’s glass.

“I don’t really know. I learned it in a dojo in a town about an hour and a half drive from here.”

“That’s disappointing. My sister is looking for a new dojo to practice in, and I hoped you’d know any.”

“Sorry. The one I learned in isn’t really functioning anymore, anyway. The teacher, she supposedly retired. Al and I were her exceptions.”

Ling nodded understandingly. “Why did she retire?”

“Ovarian cancer.” Ed said, drumming his automail fingers on the counter absentmindedly.

“My apologies.” Ling said after a pause. “You were close to her?”

“Are.” Ed corrected. “And yeah, she was our foster mother.”

Ling laughed. “The joys of nepotism.” He stumbled over the last word a bit, but covered it with a rueful grin.

Ed grinned softly. “Wasn’t so much of a joy at the time.”

“She was hard on you?”

“By the end of every lesson, we had at least ten bruises!” He laughed.

“I know how that feels. I would finish training and feel as though I had been trampled by a herd of horses!” Ling chuckled, almost wistful.

The door swung open, and Ling’s eyes flicked to the newcomers. “The people you are waiting for are here.”

Ed stiffened and glanced back, seeing The King, Al, and a couple others (The Queen and The Knight, he noted absently) enter the bar. “Right. Okay, how much do I owe you for the drink?”

“It’s on me. Just, here.” Ling slid a scrap of paper over the counter. Ed glanced at it long enough to see that it was a phone number, turned bright red, and slipped in his pocket. “Call me?”

“Yeah, sure, it’ll probably be a text, but yeah. I’m -- I’m just going to go now.” Ed babbled, blush receding the faintest bit. Ling chuckled and Ed turned and marched away, making a beeline for the newcomers.

“Brother! I wasn’t expecting you to be here early.” Al remarked cheerily before remembering, with help from Ed’s answering scowl, that he and his brother were not on the best terms.

“Yeah, well, I am. Let’s get this over with.” Ed said coolly. The group made their mostly cohesive way towards the back room they had been in before.

Roughly scraping out a chair and sitting down, Ed eyed the people settling on the other side of the table. “Why do you want to see me?” He asked flatly.

“Our information network tells us that while the leaders of The Seven Sins are in Italy, two of their lieutenants are a bit closer to home; Zolf J. Kimblee and Frank Archer.” The King spoke, flipping through a few pieces of paper stapled together. “While there is only speculation on Archer’s whereabouts, we believe Kimblee is headed south, possibly to Rush Valley.”

Ed sat up straight, suddenly hyper-aware of his automail. “Why the hell would he go to Rush Valley? It’s a college and automail town.” He scowled, trying to hide his flash of apprehension.

“While that is true, the residents of Rush Valley have historically had a disdain for Central City. This scorn has lessened slightly in modern times, but is still present.” The Queen said emotionlessly, eyeing both Ed and Al, who had started at the mention of Rush Valley.

“We believe that he may try to recruit people to the Seven’s cause.” The King added. Ed and Al traded dismayed looks, quarrel momentarily set aside.

“We need to tell Winry to get out of there.” Ed said, hushed.

Al nodded vigorously. “You’re skyping her later tonight, right?” Ed nodded once.

“Who’s Winry?” The Knight asked, looking between the two brothers as if that would reveal the answer.

“She’s a friend of ours, she goes to the Rush Valley Institute of Technology.” Al said, fear weighing his tone.

“How close are you to her?” The King asked, his voice hard.

“She’s my girlfriend.” Ed said, glaring.

“Then do your best to convince her. If Kimblee or any of his allies gets ahold of that information, then she _will_ be a target, and the Seven have never hesitated to use innocent lives to get what they want.” He commanded. Ed bristled at the tone but quickly sobered as the words sank in. Winry could be killed to get to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Fallulah's Out of It


	7. Dancing Through The Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2.15.17: minor changes

Zolf Kimblee frowned at his reflection through the smears and spiderwebbing cracks on the motel mirror. He touched his hair with distaste, running his hand through the shorn, dyed locks. Red didn’t suit him at all. But there was nothing to be done, his old hairstyle and color would have made him far too recognizable. He adjusted the lapels of his stark, unstained white jacket, and exited the bathroom, flopping on the bed in an undignified manner. Staring at the cracks and stains that littered the ceiling, he took a deep breath. In two hours he would have to get up and go to a class, Anatomy and Physiology if he wasn’t mistaken. But for now, he was perfectly content to lay on the lumpy, creaking motel bed. After the cots of Central City Prison, even this felt luxurious.

His mind turned to the task that awaited him after his day as a student, and he grimaced slightly. He was charismatic, true, but he much preferred to be in a position of power when it came to making bargains. And even that didn’t compare to the thrilling joy of watching a building that he’d rigged blow. His grimace faded as he turned his thoughts to memories of explosions, _his_ explosions, and the bombs that had caused them. If he did well on this operation, he’d be back to making bombs and watching people and buildings blow in no time. He pillowed his hands behind his head, and gave himself over to the memories and the daydreams.

 

* * *

 

 

Winry ducked and wove through the crowded halls, only half focusing on where she was heading. Ed had skyped her last night, and he had had the audacity to suggest she quit her classes, the ones that she’d already paid for and committed to! She’d gotten so angry at him, for thinking that he could control her life that much, that she’d hung up on him and turned off her phone and laptop. Now, in the morning, she winced internally. She’d overreacted, she really had. Eh, she’d skype him that night and apologize. He probably did have a reason, but the problem was figuring out what was actually a good reason and what was his hero complex speaking.

Lost in thought, she was jolted back to the present when she slammed into another person. The man stumbled backwards, catching himself on the wall.

“Oh my gosh, are you alright? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The man adjusted his fedora, an actual fedora, Winry noted; and grinned. “It’s perfectly alright. I should have been watching where I was walking as well.” He offered his hand. “I’m Kimberly, Kimberly Johnson.”

“Winry Rockbell.” She shook his hand, relieved that there were no hard feelings. “Where are you going?”

“I’m on my way to A&P II.” His smile took on a sheepish edge. “I don’t suppose you know where the classroom is?”

“Oh, I’m going there too! You’re actually going the wrong way. I can show you if you want?”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you, Ms. Rockbell.”

Winry adjusted her backpack and grinned at the redhead she’d literally run into. “C’mon, Professor LeCoulte hates tardiness.”

 

* * *

 

A week later, Kimblee came back to his motel room seething. That ingrate of a professor told him off for _not taking notes_. It had taken all of his willpower to maintain the image of the simpering, weak little student instead of snapping back. When the Seven Sins took control of Central, he was going to convince them to let him blow this little college off the map. His best bet would probably be to ask Envy, he was the one with the least concern for civilian life. Pride, the other bearable one, would probably give him some speech on how they had to maintain a low profile or some shit.

Speaking of his bosses, the little burner phone beeped in his pocket. Only a few people had the number, and Archer never called. He pulled it out and grinned when he saw the caller ID. “Kimblee speaking.”

“How’s the job coming?” The voice on the other end was that strange mix of mocking and sultry, and Kimblee’s grin widened.

“I’ve recruited a few of the gangs here, but really, they’re all just riffraff. One of them was at least a quarter Ishvalan!”

Envy laughed, a rush of static distorting the maniacal sound. “You can blow them up when we’re done with them, as long as it looks like an accident. Which ones haven’t you gotten yet?”

“The Wildings are being recalcitrant, and I haven’t had time to meet with the Fallen Angels or the Dead Eyes. Why, again, do I have to attend these ridiculous classes?”

“Ask Pride if you want an explanation. Jeez, the gangs there have such idiotic, pathetic names. It’s no wonder they’re just scum. When are you going to meet the two you haven’t yet? Archer is already done with his gangs, you know.”

Kimblee stiffened. “I’m meeting with the Dead Eyes tomorrow, and the Fallen Angels on Wednesday. And if Archer is done with his, that’s merely because he lies like a politician.”

“If you’re not done with them in two weeks, we’ll send Archer in to do your job for you.” Envy warned, the mocking note in his voice prominent.

“They’ll be on our side within two weeks, I promise you that.”

“See that they are. You’re a decent conversationalist, I’d hate to see your place taken by Archer.” Envy hung up. Kimblee slipped his phone in his pocket, frowning. It was time to take drastic measures.

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later, Winry walked out of the little pawnshop Paninya worked in, slightly regretting her decision to walk her girlfriend to her job in the seedier part of town. It wasn’t that Winry was helpless, she had her wrench in her pocket; but that part of the town had quite the reputation for organized crime. From there, her thoughts jumped to the Elrics, and Ed’s warning. He hadn’t stopped trying to convince her since he found out, a week ago now.

She had to admit, he did have a point.  The Mad Bomber was still a feared name, especially in Ishvalan slums. He had been obviously insane even before a two year stint in prison, which Ed had told her had mostly been spent in solitary. She shivered and drew her coat around her; the wind here was bitingly cold, even in the summer. The dangers of living in a canyon, she supposed.

A flash of red caught her eye, and she turned to see her classmate, the late enroller disappear down a dank alley. She hadn’t spent much time talking to Kimberly, but judging by the all-white aesthetic he had, she hadn’t expected to see him in this part of town. She studied the alley he’d gone down. The building on the left side of it was derelict. The curiosity burning in her chest and the prominent window frames were all she needed to decide to put Paninya’s lessons in climbing houses to use.

She stripped off her coat, tying it around her waist and leaving her in just a pair of cargo pants and a black tank top. She walked over to the building, trying her best not to attract attention. The people around her didn’t seem like the type to call the cops, anyway. She quickly jumped up, catching the window frame and using the momentum to swing herself up to the top of the doorframe and grabbed one of the second-story windows. From there she just had to swing a foot up, shift her weight and jump, grabbing the roof. Heart pounding in her chest, she lay on the flat roof for a moment as her actions suddenly struck her with how _dumb_ an idea that was. Really, it was almost Elric-grade stupid and reckless. Ignoring the mental wailing, she stood and frowned down at her hands, picking a few splinters out.

Splinters safely removed, Winry squared her shoulders and walked across the roof and jumped to the next, scanning the alleys for any trace of the man she was following. She grinned when she caught a flash of red and white down a street a few buildings over. Thanking whatever deities may or may not exist for her target’s bright colors and her ability to walk quietly, she hopped a few buildings, always staying a good fifty feet behind him. He stopped in front of a boarded-up building and knocked. The door actually creaked open a bit, and a raspy voice demanded the name of the person knocking, and what his business was here.

She heard her classmate’s voice ring out, giving the absolute last name she had expected to hear. Winry stifled a gasp and ducked down quickly, flattening herself against the concrete roof. _Kimblee._ On behalf of the _Seven Sins_ , no less. The door in the alleyway below her creaked, accompanied by the sound of crisp footsteps walking inside, cut off by the door closing.

She lay there for a while, trembling and turning the new information over in her mind. So many things were clicking into place, the man’s knowledge of chemicals that Paninya had reported, the enthusiasm he had in the anatomy class, that nagging feeling she’d seen him before, the all-white aesthetic, the hesitation to reply when anyone called his name. She had to stifle a hysterical giggle. She was classmates with The Mad Bomber!

She crawled away from the edge of the roof before standing, noticing that her whole body was shaking. She forced the incident from her mind, focusing entirely on getting home. She could see the college from here, and the little bar on the edge of the campus had a roof hatch. She just had to get there. Then she could panic.

 

* * *

 

 

"Just because I went on a date doesn't mean that I'm not giving this case my all!" Ed snarled at the King, who looked supremely unruffled. The asshole had opened their little  _meeting_ with a crack about Ed's date. "How do you even know what I did last night?"

"It's my job, Elric. Keep up." The King said, rolling his eyes. He was obviously trying to get a rise out of Ed, but at this point, Ed didn't give a flying fuck.

"Your job isn't to spy on my personal life!"

His rant was cut off by the sound of Winry’s ringtone. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, quickly sliding his finger across the screen, holding it to his ear. “Win, is everything alright? You never call.”

Winry sucked in an audible, unsteady breath on the other end. When she spoke, her voice was choked, full of worry. “Ed, you’re meeting with the Flames now, right?” At his noise of assent, she exhaled roughly and said firmly, “Put me on speakerphone. I’ve got news.”

“Win, what? Why can’t you--” Ed started.

“For once in your life, do as I ask you, Edward Elric!” She cut him off, raising her voice, her voice cracking with the threat of tears.

Ed complied, setting his phone down on the table and tapping the button. “You’re on speaker now, Win.”

Winry's breath hitched, but she swallowed and pushed through it. Her voice was steady when she spoke. “Kimblee is in Rush Valley. I saw him.”

Al jerked forward, his eyes widening. “Are you alright, Winry?”

“I’m, I’m doing alright, Al.”

The King leaned forward in his seat, lacing his fingers together under his chin. “Are you sure that it’s him, Ms. Rockbell?”

“Who are you?” She asked instead of answering.

“I am The King. Now, are you sure?”

“He looks a lot like the pictures released of him, and I don’t think anyone would be stupid enough to assume The Mad Bomber’s identity.” She said, a surprising amount of steel in her voice alongside the wateriness.

“You’d be surprised, but I’ll have my men look into it anyway. Do you know the name he’s going by?” The King asked, putting a bit of warmth in his tone in an attempt to calm the girl on the phone.

Winry took a deep breath. “He’s, he goes by Kimberly Johnson, and he’s staying at the Peaks Motel. He said he was meeting someone on the behalf of the Seven Sins.”

“Thank you, Ms. Rockbell. You’ve done us a great favor, and we are indebted to you. Now, I think it would be best for your plausible deniability of involvement if you don’t hear what comes next.” The King directed a look at Ed, and Ed nodded.

“He’s probably right, Win. I’ll skype you tonight?”

“Alright. I’ll talk to you then. You know, if this is what you do, I have never been more grateful that I’m just an automail mechanic.” A tinge of hysteria crept into her voice, and Ed picked up the phone, switching it off speaker.

“I’ll talk to you tonight. I love you.” Ed hung up after a moment. Then he turned to The King. “So, what are you going to do?”

The King ignored him. “Bishop, you have people in Rush Valley. Have one of them investigate Ms. Rockbell’s claim.”

The white-haired man nodded sharply, pulling a flip phone out of his pocket as he stood. Ed watched him leave the room before turning to The King, brimming with anger. “What’s going to happen now?” He demanded.

“What’s going to happen now is that we will verify the legitimacy of Ms. Rockbell’s account, and if it is true, we’re going to eliminate the threat.” The King said dismissively.

“And what’s gonna happen to Winry? She might be in danger!” Al burst out, shocking most of the people at the table.

The Queen spoke, a note that Ed couldn’t place in her voice. “I’ll have some of my people shadow her. If she seems to be in danger, they will take care of her.” Al relaxed and nodded, apparently appeased by her statement.

“So, how are you going to take out this guy without practically sending up a neon warning sign to the Seven Sins? Kimblee’s one of their favorite, or so Greed said.”

“We’ll have bigger things to worry about, soon. We received a message from The Northern Wall the other day, saying that someone was trying to recruit people in the name of the Seven Sins.”

"The Northern Wall, as in the other biggest crime syndicate in the country?" Ed asked, incredulous. The King nodded, his lips a thin white line. "Didn't know you were on speaking terms." Ed scoffed.

Al sucked in a breath through his teeth before breaking in with, "They’re run by a terrifying, ruthless woman, it's better to stay on her good side than her bad one.” He turned to The King. “What did she say?”

“That she took care of the recruiters, and for us to keep our drama in our city.” The King said, grimacing faintly.

“Well. That’s good, I suppose.” Al said, after a pause.

“One less direction to worry about, I guess.” The Knight put in, speaking around an unlit cigarette.

“One less direction?” Ed asked sharply.

Al winced. “I forgot to tell you. We got news, found out what they’re doing.”

Ed sat up straight in his seat, eyes flashing in the dim light. “What are they going to do?”

“They’re building up their numbers, they're going to use them to make this an all out war.” Al said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo boi did this take a long ass time
> 
> title from EXGF's We are the Hearts


	8. You're Only Crying, You're Only Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2.15.17: Minor changes, formatting fixed

Jean Havoc generally didn’t mind his cover job. Driving taxis wasn’t the most exciting work, but it could be entertaining, and he got plenty of excitement outside of this job. It could also be the most annoying, soul-sucking thing he’d ever experienced.

As the rain pelted the windshield, he wrenched his attention from the irritating pins-and-needles feeling in his side to his silent passenger. The man wore wide-brimmed sunhat, which served a double purpose of obscuring the back window and making him look suspicious. Jean had been trying to catch a glimpse of his passenger’s face since he’d requested a seedy apartment building in the western outskirts of Central. People who lived in that part of town generally didn’t get cabs, the whole area was mostly under the poverty line. The man’s clothes had furthered Jean’s suspicion; at first glance they looked ratty and second-hand, but if you looked at them closely, they were spotless and well-pressed. He also hadn’t said anything for twenty-five minutes and counting.

Jean glanced in his rearview mirror, frowning slightly. He switched lanes, pulling up in front of the requested complex. “Here you go, Medallion Grove Apartments. That’ll be,” he glanced at the dashboard counter, “$57.72.” The man paid and got out. As he exited, his face was visible, for a split second. But Jean Havoc hadn’t gotten where he was by being inattentive. His eyes widened for a second before he smoothed out his expression. He drove off, making it two streets before pulling over and pulling out his cell phone. “Chief, we’ve got a problem.”

 

* * *

 

The King slammed a manila folder on the table, looking more expressive than Ed had ever seen the man. “Envy’s back in Amestris. He’s in _Central_.”

Ed inhaled sharply. “How do you know?” He demanded.

“The Knight ran into him last night.” The King took his usual seat at the head of the table, sitting stiffly with none of the easy grace he had had previously. The Queen took up her usual stance just behind him. “We then got a call from one of our informants, saying that someone who strongly resembled Envy was staying in the Medallion Grove Apartments.”

“Do we have any idea what he’s planning?” Al asked, leaning forward and gripping his forearm with white fingertips.

“Nothing concrete. It could be that he plans to assist with the recruitment, to buy out some of our own men. It’s equally likely that he’s going to try to get rid of anyone here.” The King said, voice nearly a snarl at the end. The Queen laid a hand on his shoulder, a minute gesture that ended almost as soon as it had started. The King took a breath, closing his eyes for a heartbeat. His expression smoothed out, the emotionless mask back in place. “So, to answer your question, Alphonse, we have no idea what he’s planning.”

Al bit his lip, and Ed drummed his automail fingers. “Has he been seen anywhere else today?” Ed asked.

“No. He left the apartment at 8:35 this morning, but he hasn’t been seen since then.” The Pawn put in, flipping through the folder. He looked up. “But Envy is known for disguises; who knows where he actually is.”

“Wait. If he’s so good at disguises, then why did The Knight recognize him?” Ed’s drumming picked up speed as he thought. “Maybe he wanted to be recognized.”

There was silence at the table as the other three turned that over in their minds.

“Even if that’s the case, we should be on high alert.” The King said.

Ed nodded and opened his mouth, about to ask The Pawn for the folder. He was cut off by a generic ringtone, and the King pulling out a flip phone. He looked confused as he flipped it open and held it to his ear. The confusion was quickly replaced by worry as the caller spoke. “Maes, is something wrong?” He nodded as the person on the other line presumably spoke, and set the phone on the table, switching it to speakerphone. Voices filtered through, tinny and muffled. There was silence for a minute, and the room was filled with with sick anticipation with every second that passed. Then --

A voice spoke, raspy and low. “So, you’re Hughes. You’ve caused quite a few problems for me and everyone else.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Another voice came through, shaky but strong.

Amusement curled through the first voice. “Cut the bullshit, Hughes. You know everything that goes on in this city!”

“I just work for the newspaper, you’ve got -- you’ve got the wrong person!”

“I know I don’t. That little gang has protected you for too long, and I’m not going to let you get in our way by giving them information.”

“Please, I have -- I have a wife and daughter, please--” The King flinched bodily as Hughes’ voice was cut off by a gunshot and a choked noise of pain.

The King leapt to his feet, his chair screeching back. His face was bloodless, his eyes wide enough to see the white around the iris.

The Queen caught his arm as he strode towards the door. “Sir, you can’t. If Maes is dead, there isn’t anything you can do, and if he’s not, they gave him enough time to call you. They’ll be expecting you.”

“I don’t care! I’m going to his office.” He pulled away, striding to the door. The Queen sighed as she followed him.

Al stood and made to follow them, but the Queen shook her head. “Alphonse, stay here.”

“But --”

“Stay here.” She left the room, walking briskly to keep up with The King. The door shut behind them with a hollow click.

Ed was the first to break the oppressive cloud of silence that hung over the room. “Who _was_ the caller?” He asked, unable to raise his voice past a whisper.

The Pawn answered him, a tremble in his voice. “That was Maes Hughes.”

“The _Central Times_ guy? The fuck does he have to do with _you_?”

“He and his reporters are a -- are contributors to our information network. He and The King --” He cut himself off. “We protect him and his family.”

“Do you think he’s…” Al said feebly, trailing off.

“I -- he might be.”

 

* * *

 

They got to the offices before the police did. Roy distantly noted that they were probably lucky in that regard. But his thoughts were racing, his heart in his throat and his stomach twisting itself into knots as he raced up the stairs. Then he was in front of Hughes’ office.

Hawkeye was at his shoulder, sidearm drawn and cocked. Roy swung the door open, bracing himself for any sight at all. He blinked. The room was just as empty. His eyes scanned the room desperately, catching on a small puddle of blood dripping off of the right side of his desk. The chair was pulled askew, a single hole in the vinyl and blood streaking the seat and back. He made to move over to the desk, remembering at the last second that he couldn’t leave prints anywhere in the room.

Behind him, The Queen was holding on to her composure much better than he was. “Sir, we need to leave. Hughes isn’t here, and the police are going to be here any second.”

“Where was he shot?” The words spilled out of him, tinges with a desperation he couldn’t hold back.

“Sir, we really have to --”

He cut her off. “Where was he shot?!” His voice broke halfway through the sentence.

Hawkeye hesitated a beat, eyes flicking to the desk and chair, taking in the forming stains. “It appears that he was shot in the shoulder.”

“Why would they take him?” He said, only half aware that he was speaking. “Why not just kill him? Why aim for the shoulder?”

“Figure it out later. We have to leave, _now_.” Hawkeye said, grabbing his shoulder. He shook himself.

“Let’s go.” He turned, coat flaring dramatically behind him, and walked to the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Riza Hawkeye’s emotionless mask was the envy of poker players everywhere. This was what she was used to, presenting the frigid facade, but today she could feel it fracturing.

Maes was -- not dead, not yet, but gone. While Roy had always been closer to him, ever since they were all kids, she had been -- she _was_ his friend too. She glanced in the rearview, discreetly checking on Roy. He was a wreck, as she expected. As she felt.

“Where to now, sir?” He started as she addressed him, and she felt the smallest wrinkle crease her brow.

“Back to the Devil’s Nest. Fuery’s still there.” He said after a moment of deliberation.

“Yes, sir.” She turned down a side street. The rest of the ride passed in a silence too fraught with emotion to be called companionable.

 

Riza watched as Roy strode into the bar, pulling up his mask with more effort than it had ever taken. She picked up her pace to match his, two steps behind his right shoulder as usual. He walked directly to the counter, and Greed said before he could even ask, “They’re still in the room.”

Roy nodded briskly, making his way to the back room. When he opened the door, Elric jumped in his seat, and Riza would have smirked at how easy it was to startle him, if it weren’t for the thick blanket of fear and grief that shrouded her.

Roy’s tone was carefully authoritative when he spoke, looking to Fuery. “I need every security camera around the _Times_ building.” Fuery nodded, standing to leave immediately. “What am I looking for?”

“Any kind of vehicle in a hurry, anything suspicious at all.” Roy barked. Fuery left, nearly running to get to his car.

“What happened?” Alphonse asked, pale and wan.

“He wasn’t there.” Roy collapsed into his usual chair, holding on to his facade by his fingertips. Even Elric could tell something was very wrong.

“What do you mean he wasn’t there? Where could he have gone?”

“He appeared to have been dragged off.” Riza said, standing stiffer than usual.

Alphonse closed his eyes. “Who’s going to let Mrs. Hughes know?” He asked, despair infusing his tone.

“It’ll make the news tonight.” Roy’s tone was too flippant, and both Elrics scowled, though, Riza assumed, for different reasons.

“No. She deserves more.” Alphonse said, steel in his tone.

Roy’s expression tightened, and Riza decided to step in. “She does, and she'll be informed. Right now, we need to focus on finding Hughes.”  

 

* * *

 

Maes Hughes woke in pain, jolted suddenly from unconsciousness. He opened his eyes, and bit back a swear as he was jarred again. Blinking away the tears that had formed, he peered around him. Everything was blurred all to hell, but he could tell that he was probably in a truck of some kind.

The vehicle drove over a pothole, and Maes clenched his teeth as a fresh wave of agony struck him, radiating from his shoulder. His hands were bound behind his back, pulling uncomfortably on his injured shoulder. He experimented with moving his legs, but his legs were bound at the knees and ankles with coarse scratchy rope. He only had time to wonder what was going to happen to him before the vehicle to rolled over a series of potholes and rocks. Bright black swum across his vision, and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, yeah. *laughs nervously*
> 
> Chapter title from ODESZA's It's Only
> 
> If you like o̶r̶ ̶h̶a̶t̶e̶ this, leave kudos, drop a comment, anything. I'm dying here people


	9. Colder Than This Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2.15.17: Minor changes, formatting fixed

A week had passed since Maes had gone missing. A week with _no new information_. Roy sat in the single chair in his rather spartan living room. Maes had been nagging him about -- Roy cut that train of thought off before it could get anywhere. He turned instead to the dossier in his lap, Fuery’s reports intermixed with Breda and Havoc’s, all reporting nearly the same thing. A sea-green van had left the premises about seven minutes after the gun went off. The van had false plates, but belonged to Barry “The Chopper” Donner, a member of the Unseen. Falman was currently meeting with them, with a suitable backup of course. He’d read the reports over and over again for the last -- he glanced at the clock -- three hours, as if they would just magically have Maes’s location. He sighed and looked down at the sheaf of paper, frustrated to no end. Tapping the papers into order, he stood, walking down the hall to the bedroom and swinging the mirror open. The papers went into the safe. Roy walked back out to the living room. He opened the curtains, staring out at the city skyline, at the dots of light littered through the night.

Maes was somewhere out there. He had to be.

Roy closed the curtains again and walked over to the chair, sitting down again. He nearly fell out of it when his personal phone vibrated against the little table, and he almost knocked the lamp over in his desperate scramble for the phone. A quick glance revealed the caller to be Gracia Hughes, and he slid his finger across the screen, nearly rejecting the call in his haste to answer.

“Hello?”

“Roy, something was in the mailbox when I got home. It’s...it’s got your name on it.” Gracia’s voice was quiet and shaky.

“I’m guessing it doesn’t have _Roy_ written on it then.” He said grimly.

“No.” Gracia confirmed, somewhat unnecessarily.

“I’ll be over as soon as possible.”

 

* * *

 

Gracia looked _terrible_. When she’d opened the door, Roy had to stop himself from gasping aloud. There were dark, bruised-looking bags under her eyes, her hair was slightly greasy, and her shoulders were slumped with exhaustion.

Now, sitting in the far more homey living room of the Hughes household, Roy almost had to laugh. It wasn’t like he looked much better.

Gracia had insisted on making him tea before talking to him about what she’d found. It was her coping method, he knew. It was a familiar song and dance, and rushing her only resulted in undrinkable tea and a frazzled Gracia. So many times he’d sat on this couch after a high-stress operation. Maes always -- he forced those thoughts from his mind, concentrating on the fraying patch on the couch that he definitely wasn’t helping. He stared blankly ahead, listening to the shriek of the kettle and the bubbling hiss of tea being poured into mugs.

Gracia walked back into the room, holding two steaming, steeping mugs of tea. She settled on the other side of the glass-topped coffee table, sliding his mug across it. He wrapped his hand around the familiar handle, bringing the mug to his mouth but not drinking. He was half afraid that if he opened his mouth he would vomit from nerves. Roy sat silently, watching Gracia and waiting for her to speak.

She took a sip of her tea and a deep breath. “I sent Elysia to her grandparents.” Roy nodded. He knew this already, had sent some of his most trustworthy people to guard her. “You can talk about this freely. This was in the mailbox.” She reached into the pocket on her scruffy sweatpants, pulling out a black usb drive with a piece of masking tape wrapped around it. She held it out, and Roy steeled his nerves and took it as though it were a viper instead of a usb drive. _To The King_ was written on the tape in unfamiliar scrawl. Gracia continued. “I haven’t done anything with it, I called you as soon as it occurred to me to.”

Roy held up a hand, silencing her. “I’ll look into this. If it was sent to you…” He trailed off, thinking over the dark implications of this little _gift_. He shook his head. “If it’s about Maes, I’ll let you know.”

Gracia nodded, screwing her eyes closed and worrying her lip at the mention of her husband. “I...I hope it is about him, but at the same time, I’m praying that it’s not.” She whispered hoarsely, locking her gaze on her teacup. “I don’t know what would be worse, this constant fear or knowing definitively that he’s --” She broke off, taking another sip.

Roy forced a sip of tea past the knot in his throat. “We don’t know that he is dead,” He said, choking on the last word.

Gracia didn’t seem to have heard him. Her teacup was shaking. “I just wish we had confirmation, one way or the other. I could deal with that, I think. But this _waiting_ , this, this _uncertainty,_ it feels like it’s going to kill me, just eat me from the inside out.”

Roy’s mostly-full mug clicked against the coffee table. He stood, walking over to the other side, settling next to Gracia and laying a hand on her arm. “We will find him. I promise, Gracia, we will find him.”

She set her teacup down and shifted, burying her face in his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders, closing his eyes as her tears soaked into his shirt. On the table, the tea went cold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know. But hey, I wrote in this verse again! HALLE-FFUCKING-LUJAH!  
> I should have the next chapter out pretty soon, fingers crossed lmao  
> Chapter title from Halsey's Control, which really helped me write this.


	10. You're Only Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for fairly graphic torture, i guess???  
> title from Odesza's "It's Only"

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

 

Maes drifted, the pain fading in and out in time with his consciousness. The only constant was the slow, steady dripping of something.

 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

 

Time passed (or did it?), and he struggled his way to awareness, biting back vicious curses as every movement, every involuntary shiver, made him gag on the pain welling up from his shoulder, which was lying limp and useless. Dried blood cracked on his face as he moved, pulling on his skin. He took as deep a breath as he could, hissing it out through his teeth as all his aches and pains made themselves known with extreme prejudice. Aside from his shoulder, there were three other points of sharp pain, emanating from his other wrist and both of his ankles. His uninjured arm was suspended above his head. The stone wall he was propped against and the metal cuffs around his wrist and ankles were freezing, leaching the heat from his body. He felt sluggish and stupid; exhausted, in pain, and freezing.

 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

 

Maes forced his eyes to open, and they opened to absolute blackness. Straining his eyes, he desperately looked around, trying to see if there was anything at all that would give him even the barest clue to his surroundings. Nothing. Nothing at all. He could have been miles underground, for all the light that was in this room. The room smelled of dank, stagnant water.

 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

 

His mouth was dry as a desert, and his stomach was growling from hunger.

 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

 

Hours that could have been minutes passed before he heard anything but his own breathing and the constant dripping. Footsteps on stone, steadily growing louder. Maes lifted his head from where it had been lolling on his chest, watching a faint, flickering light shine through the cracks under what must have been a door. The door, which he could now see was a heavy metal contraption, was thrown open, revealing a slim person carrying a large black bag, whose face was illuminated by an old-fashioned oil lamp. Envy, his mind supplied, as his captor opened his mouth in a savage grin and spoke.

 

“Look who finally woke up!”

 

Maes flinched at the raspy, maliciously gleeful voice, but didn’t respond. Not that that deterred Envy in the slightest.

 

“You know who I am, I won't bother introducing myself to you." Envy set the bag and oil lamp down on the ground and walked over to one of the walls, where a metal lever protruded from the walls. He pulled the lever down, and Maes bit back a scream as he was jerked upwards and away from the wall by his chained arm, nearly jerking the arm out of it's socket. Envy laughed.

 

"If that's all it takes to get you to scream, this might be less fun than I thought it would!"

 

Maes glared at him, panting raggedly, but still didn't say anything. He wouldn't say anything.

 

"Now, give me a moment to set up, and then the fun will really start!" Envy grinned, his skin practically glowing white in the dim light.

 

Envy unzipped the duffel bag at his feet, not moving any closer to Maes. The reason for that became clear as Envy pulled out a few throwing knives and grinned sadistically. "You've used these before, I thought you'd appreciate knowing firsthand how they felt." He laughed, taking aim and throwing. Pain exploded in his side, the knife sharp enough to cut through the skin and muscle cleanly. Maes whimpered, trying desperately to not curl around the wounded area. Another knife embedded itself in his other side. A line of agony cut through his left leg, and he felt himself sag, pulling on the suspended arm. He jerked as a knife flew next to his face, taking a chunk of his ear with it.

   

“God, you’re so pathetic! With what you do, your _information network_ , I’d thought that you’d be tougher than this. I wonder if every member of Mustang’s pathetic little gang is this weak.” Envy mused, tossing another knife.

   

After a number of throwing knives that was far beyond his capabilities to count, he crumpled. His arm was finally ripped out of it's socket and he screamed, black dots swimming before his eyes. The sudden jerk dislodged the knife that had stuck in his side, and jostled the one in his other arm. The pain only worsened as he continued to be suspended from his now-dislocated shoulder, until finally, mercifully, he blacked out.

 

Envy only smiled and walked over to the lever, flipping it back and jerking Maes back to the wall.

 

* * *

 

Roy pressed his knuckle to his mouth. After he'd gone home from Gracia's, he'd found he couldn't sleep, desperate to know what was on the small, innocuous usb drive. Against his better judgement, he'd dug out his old laptop and plugged it in. There had been six videos, dated between -- he checked the time -- yesterday, now, and the day that Maes had been abducted. He dug around in his bedside table and retrieved an old pair of earbuds, plugging them in and putting in the only side that worked.

With his heart in his throat and his stomach twisted in knots, he clicked on the earliest video. The thumbnail was  just blackness, and there was nothing that would have prepared him for the video's contents. God, Maes looked _horrible_. There was dried blood all down the side of his face, and his shirt was covered in blood and grime. Envy's laughter filtered through, tinny and harsher than it was in person, as he inflicted cut after cut. Roy realized he'd bitten his knuckle nearly to blood, and he ripped it away from his mouth. The video ended, and he could only stare at his laptop in mute horror. With shaking fingers, he clicked on the next one.

 

In the next video,  Maes’s wounds had been bandaged, and Envy came at him with a cattle prod after roughly shoving Maes’s shoulder back into place.

The third had Envy holding a torch to Maes’s feet. His shirt caught fire by accident, and Envy just laughed as it burned off of Maes. Roy roughly wiped away tears that just continued to fall.

The fourth, waterboarding. His shirt hadn’t been replaced.

The fifth, they had moved to a different location, marginally better lit. Maes had been stabbed, all over his body, with what looked like thousands of acupuncture needles.

Throughout all the videos, Envy taunted him, telling Maes that he was going to _‘deliver his mangled corpse to his wife and daughter, let your friend know how much he failed at protecting you’_ . That phrase was going to stick with Roy for a while. Roy’s only consolation, watching these videos and listening to his best friend’s screams and sobs echo through his head, was that Maes never seemed to break. He never spoke, never begged, and his glare only seemed to get more vicious. Vaguely, Roy realized that he was trembling as he clicked on the sixth and final video.

 

As soon as the video started, Roy realized that this one was different.

 

Envy spoke directly to Roy this time, from a hand-held camera rather than a . “I hope you’ve had the guts to watch these, Mustang.” He sing-songed. “Don’t worry, there won’t be any more. Because he won’t be here anymore!” The camera panned to Maes, slumped and unconscious, dangling from the ceiling. His pants, his only remaining clothing, hung limply off his frame, showing clearly the pounds he'd lost after a week of not eating. “He’s been incredibly boring, I hope you know. Wouldn’t break. So I got tired of this whole thing.” Envy’s hand came into the frame, and Roy’s heart froze. Envy was holding a gun. _‘No, no, no, please god no, no, not Maes, not Maes please.’_  He begged silently. He couldn’t speak, frozen in terror.

The gunshot was so quiet, for something with so much effect. Maes hadn’t even woken before the bullet hit, spewing brains and blood and fragments of bone all over everything nearby. Envy giggled, and the video ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao


End file.
